


Something's Wrong

by 230W49thSt



Series: He's Lost Control [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Anxiety, Epilepsy, Epileptic Connor, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, after-seizure-feelings, do I need to tag vomiting?, thought disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:35:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/230W49thSt/pseuds/230W49thSt
Summary: Connor wakes up after a seizure and is scared as hell.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can only speak of my own experiences and the type of seizure I can relate to; everyone who suffers from epilepsy does it in a different way. There are a bunch of different types.

Connor wakes up with a start and finds himself sitting in his bed, shaking and breathing heavily.

The first thing he does is checking the clock on the nightstand. Not because he’s actually interested in the time but because this movement is so deeply rooted in his body that it’s impossible to shake it off.

Even when he’s not able to think a single thought.

Something’s wrong.

He feels weird. Weird like he’s about to have a seizure and it scares the shit out of him. But he doesn’t faint or collapse.

He tries to _think_ , tries to figure out what is happening to him. His heart is racing and there’s a metallic taste in his mouth. A heavy dizziness almost makes him fall to the side.

He _can’t think_. He can’t catch a thought. He can’t pronounce words in his head. He just – is; trapped in a state of sheer panic and horror, unable to get away.

_He cannot think._

His breathing quickens. When he starts to look around, he notices he’s alone in a room he doesn’t recognize.

Still no words in his head.

He opens his mouth in an attempt to talk when he feels something strange on his tongue. He had bit himself. If it was a seizure, it had already happened. Or is it still happening? He is in his house, his little hut in Kitgali, Uganda.

A sickness starts to creep up in his stomach and he swallows it down. His fear forces him up, makes him stumble across the room to his bag. Clumsily he grabs for the spare cell phone his mission companion gave him weeks ago and hobbles back to the bed before he falls over. It’s not the world that’s spinning, it’s him.

Slowly his ability to form words and fragments of sentences comes back and he speed dials a number. He takes a few deep breaths and hopes he doesn’t have to vomit when someone picks up on the other end.

“Hello?” the voice asks.

“Chris…I’m...not feeling well.” It is hard to put his feelings into words, the fear, the uncertainty of what is happening to him right now.

“Connor? What’s wrong?”

He takes another deep breath and tries to force his brain to function.

“I think I’m having a seizure, or had. I’m scared.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.”

“I’m calling the doctor to check on you, okay?” Connor doesn’t want him to be scared. He doesn’t want to distress other people with his illness. “Connor?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not feeling well, I call him and he will check on you, alright?”

Connor feels too weak and too less himself to argue against it. To play it down, like he usually does.

“Okay,” he breathes.

“I’m hanging up now, he’ll be there very soon.”

“Yeah.”

Chris hangs up and Connor drops the cell phone. He slowly moves his head from one side to another as if his body wants to shake it off. The anxiety, the panic, the inability to think. With every passing minute he feels more and more alone. The nausea gets stronger. He checks the room for the trash can, just in case. It is next to his desk. Within three steps he could be there. That is okay. He can stay in bed until the need to vomit is stronger.

His thoughts become clearer. Like a fog that gets lifted but very slowly.

“Hello, hello,” he whispers, just to check the words coming out of his mouth, out of his mind. “What is happening, what, why now?”

It feels like a life-time but it had to be less than three minutes since his talk with Chris when someone knocks on his door. Startled, Connor gets up and makes his way across the room. Walking is easier now, steadier.

“Come in,” he says to the doctor and gets back to bed. He still feels dizzy.

“Hello Elder McKinley, what happened? Elder Thomas said you had a seizure?” The calm voice sooths him and Connor wants to cry in gratitude. It isn’t his first encounter with a doctor or a paramedic during an emergency and his last involuntary meetings with them had always been the most calming moments in stressful moments he’d ever experienced.

“I think so. I remember now that I went to bed. I read a few pages of my book. Then I woke up with a tongue bit. Very confused, disorientated, I have problems to think. And talk. I can’t remember falling asleep. Or putting down the book. I can't remember a transition.”

The doctor listened and nodded.

“And…it was scary. After I came around. I don’t know if I ever had so much fear.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better, not scared anymore, at least not much.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I take it you are medicated with antiepileptic drugs?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time your blood levels had been checked and an EEG test was done?”

Connor tries to remember. His last seizure was a year ago. A week later he and Kevin had gone to the next hospital, four hours away, to get a check-up for Connor. Everything had been normal.

“A year ago. The medication level was okay.” His thinking finally got better but he still feels drowsy, dizzy and very nauseous. Like, really.

“How do you—“

The doctor stops his next question when Connor gets up and hurries towards the trash can – and vomits.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, this is normal. It’s common to be sick after a fit.” He takes some notes on his paper. “Is there anybody that can spend the rest of the night with you until you feel better? I can also take you with me and you can stay with me. You know we don’t have a hospital here but I can make space at home.” He gives Connor a warm smile. “And do some tests tomorrow.”

“I do feel better, except the nausea. I can stay here.”

“Only if someone stays with you. I’d feel better if you were not alone tonight.”

“Well, Kevin then, I suppose.”

“Kevin? Where does he live? I go get him.”

“Elder Kevin Price,” Connor explained. The Elders know by now that they are a couple and accept it – mostly - but they don’t spread it to the villagers. Their mission is still ongoing and the evaluation by the Mission President will be soon.

The eyes of the doctor got bigger. “Ah, Elder Price, of course. Good boy. House 9.”

He says goodbye and leaves the small hut. Connor meanwhile empties the contents of his stomach again in the trash can. He feels like he gets better quicker and quicker, exponentially. The nausea is almost gone and he can think again, properly. Things like ‘Kevin will come here in three minute and there’s vomit in my trash can’. He gets up and carries it into the bathroom and flushes down the content into the toilet. He makes a mental note to clean it tomorrow. Within a minute he brushes his teeth. The silence reminds him of being alone, of his panic, so he hums something and steps from one leg to another - a weak attempt of a dance to appreciate the fact that he can stand straight without falling over.

Connor is on his way to bed when someone knocks again on his door.

“Come in,” he says, sits down and then there is Kevin, looking worried but obviously trying to pull himself together. Connor appreciates his try and smiles weakly.

“’lo Kevin.”

“Connor,” he simply says and sits down next to him. He puts his arm around his shoulder and with the other hand he takes Connor’s hand. “What the fuck.”

Connor laughs, he really laughs and it feels so good because it was such a Kevin-thing to say in this situation. Kevin knows that Connor doesn’t want scary or excessive concern because Connor has already enough of it in his own mind.

“How are you?”

“Okay. Better. Kevin, it was scary. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” Connor put his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah, before I forget anything. It's hard to remember it later when I didn't write it down or didn't tell somebody. But I should text Chris first. He’s still in Kampala. I tell him you’re here so he doesn’t have to be worried.”

“Good. I get you some water.”

“Kevin, wait.” He grabs his hand to stop him. He stares at his duvet.

“Can we sleep at your house? I don’t want sleep here, just tonight.” Kevin bows down and kisses his forehead.

“Of course.”

Connor sighs in relief.

“Thank you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a description of the seizure I had SIX HOURS BEFORE I WAS ABOUT TO GET ON A PLANE TO LONDON TO WATCH BOOK OF MORMON, fml, seriously. (I also ended up in hospital that night, better safe than sorry. And I don't have a Kevin. Which is a bit sad. Somehow the required level of medication in my blood was waaaay too low and no one had an idea why.)


End file.
